The Scaffold Waltz
by X-Bride
Summary: Taking place during the French Revolution, Serge has fallen in love with Gilbert, a beautiful prostitute, who later is accused of possible witchcraft. Doomed to be hanged, Serge searches for a way to save him. Based on the novel "A Tale of Two Cities."
1. Default Chapter

**The Scaffold Waltz**

Disclaimer: Kaze To Ki No Uta and all of its trademarks, I do not own. I shan't forget that they belong to Keiko Takemiya. This fic contains mature situations, and possible scary scenes of death. Please R&R!!

1790. What can anyone say about this year in the wonderful, but sinister country of France? Well, to begin, the country is well under way with a revolution. I have recently discovered, and now believed that humans are probably the most powerful beings on Earth capable of hating or desperately loving each other. France is no exception. About 97 of the French at the time were citizens of the third estate (commoners, middle-class people), 2 made up the second state (clergy, nobility), and 1 made up the first estate (royalty and high officials). Day by day, it was either the scaffold, or the guillotine that determined your fate if found guilty in the courts of a certain crime. Heads rolled, people kept score, the royal family's doom rolled down the hill and only got faster at the bottom, and many lived in fear.

Toward northern province France, many thrived to be happier by actually making something out of the strings of terror, which the country was almost beginning to get used to as France entered the first year anniversary of the French Revolution. As the night gleamed over the sky, one small town went on with their lives in hope something good will change. They very much feared the guillotine in accordance of a superstition they heard if a head does not fall into the basket properly or falls off the wrong way, their souls will be doomed to rot in Hell. To stick with traditional means of execution, they favored the scaffold, since the much-used gallows were exceedingly archaic to them.

Sunset brought the emotions toward the surface of almost everyone there. The skies were lovely and breathtaking and seemed that new hope will indeed be bestowed upon them for a better future with no more bloodshed and hatred. Deep within the walls of a small cottage, Serge Batouille deeply admired the beautiful vortex of evening colors as he did when he watched them with his late mother and father. Serge was almost thirteen, and he was boarding at a local's abode until he found somewhere else to go. Serge always carried around many books and a picture of his mother, which was the only thing he had left of either of his parents except the dark skin by his mother and his delicate face and eyes of his father. He remembered the simple times with his parents before they died: strolls through the parks, sight-seeing across the mountains, reading books near the fireplace and other merriment. However, those days were over. Serge had to continue to live on, but no amount of that same merriment would make him happy without his parents or bring them back.

The evening bustled with many guests down stairs and into the dinning room. Sir and Madame LeEteneix was the very munificent couple that so humbly accepted Serge to stay with them until he found another place to stay. Madame LeEteneix insisted that Serge stay as long as he wishes. She and her husband loved having him in their gaudy home, because they loved children. Although child lovers, the LeEteneix's never had any children. They had one daughter who was thrown off by a horse, lost consciousness to a coma, then died.

Serge decided to rest his eyes and join the party.

"My goodness, Serge," Madame LeEteneix exclaimed, "have you eaten at all tonight? Here, you can hep yourself to anything you like."

"Oh, Madame LeEteneix," Serge said, "you are very kind. However, I am not hungry right now."

"Are you sick, my child?"

"No, I am fine, thank-you. May I step outside for a moment. I feel rather faint. I just need some fresh air."

"If you say so," she said. Picking up a small part of her very pretty gown, Madame LeEteneix opened the door and Serge stepped outside. He had a better view of the sunset from where he was. The sunset is amazing, Serge thought. He remembered the beautiful sunsets he used to watch with his mother and father. He would rather have a moment of his infamous loneliness than remember how much he missed his parents. The loneliness was almost as much as he could bear. As tears began to build in the back of his eyes, he remained calm and content.

"Serge?" came a voice from behind him. Serge turned around curiously, and his eyes found Maybel Austerwell. There was a big reason why her name was Maybel. Her name meant beautiful and fair maiden and she was! Maybel had long blonde hair, gray eyes with a hint of green, and creamy white skin. Aside from her being extremely attractive, her personality was the next best thing; she was kind and giving and usually put other's needs before her own thoughts.

"Oh, good evening, Ms. Austerwell," Serge bowed.

"No need to be so formal, Serge. Call me Maybel, I've told you that many times."

"Y-Yes."

"Is something wrong, Serge? You just up and left from the party without saying what was wrong. Are you feeling ill? If so, I can make you some green tea and-"

She stopped. She could see sorrow in Serge's eyes as he stared longingly at the sunset.

"Serge?" asked Maybel.

"Hmm?"

"Are you sure you are all right?"

"Yes, yes. I am fine, Ms Aust–, I mean Maybel."

"Will you be coming back to the party?" she asked with a hint of begging in her voice.

"I will."

"Madame LeEteneix is saying that she is going to have a music hour! It is coming up soon. Would you, I mean if you want to,....sing with me?" She fell silent from her shyness of asking such a question, but Serge knew that she was trying to cheer him up. Maybel had a gift of knowing when a person felt depressed or uneasy.

"I would be delighted, Maybel," Serge answered. Her face lit up, making her look very pretty in the sunset's dim shadows that had cast its shadows upon everything that stood witness and absolutely still. The trees danced as the wind gently flirted. Serge found himself thinking how sad a tree can look until it is conjured up from its despair, like how the wind can change how the tree stands. The Wind and Trees....

"Maybel?"

"Yes?"

"May you honor me by answering a question?"

"Of course."

"Is it possible for anybody to be completely alone in the world?"

"Serge? Do you miss anyone? Has someone close to you just pass? I'm very sorry," Maybel said as she put her hand on Serge's shoulder for comfort.

"Oh, no," Serge said, as he found out that Maybel thought he had recently lost someone special. "I didn't mean me personally," he half lied. "I meant this was a biased question."

"Well, I really do not believe that one can be absolutely alone. I think there is at least one person in the world who can relieve one of their loneliness and solitariness. There is that one person who can make one realize that they can cry one a shoulder, hold a hand, speak a secret of trust, or make them feel that they are not alone." Maybel felt emotions replete in her heart as she spoke these thought to Serge, who now has his innocent, deep eyes on her. Maybel's forehead felt warm. She thought to thicken her sentences to hint at a possible aspect for Serge. "Of course, someone can always be there for someone if one should ever feel lonely. If two people share a touch of loneliness, it is better that being alone, all by yourself."

In case you haven't caught on, Maybel is deeply, head over heels in love with Serge. She has been ever since she first saw him at church last month. Love at first sight made Maybel shy and timid to confess her feelings to the dark-skinned boy, but she was very obdurate with her feelings which told her the Serge must never cry or be hurt. Sooner or later, Maybel will have to realize that she was not Serge's mother, nor could she protect him from the dangers the world had to offer him. Yet, despite her munificent affections and actions, Maybel stepped back from exploiting too much drama into the moment.

"Thank-you, Maybel," Serge said kindly. "I'll just stay out here for a while longer, then I will accompany you in a joyous song."

"I'm glad. See you, Serge," she said waving gently to and fro.

He waved back, then she closed the door. Lost in a train of thought, Serge decided to walk down the short path of smooth dirt and let his thoughts embrace his mind, jocular or not.

Maybel, absent from Serge's attention, watched her love walk away. She gave a small sigh and closed the curtains. It will be dark soon, she thought. I hope he will be okay. He will be, he is an amazing person in every way. I pray for him with hope and serenity that he will buck up. Sadness doesn't suite someone so wonderful. Dear, I'm starting to sound pessimistic.

"Day dreaming again, Maybel?" The person who addressed this question was Anne, Maybel's older sister, and only sole relative still alive today. Anne didn't look at all like her sister, but did have medium-length brown hair with ravish curls at the bottom, and she was very tall for a girl coming to eighteen. Other than pretty and smart, she had a tricky habit of dumping too much of the cold, bare truth on someone when she gave her two cents.

"No, not really."

"Oh, come now, Maybel," Anne started, "you were looking after Serge, weren't you? Maybel, as your older sister, I feel like I have a duty to teach you about love and what to do when you are pinning after someone who is oblivious to the fact that you actually care."

"I appreciate it, Anne, but not right now. Serge seems to have many things on his mind. He just went for a short stroll down the path. He won't be away for too long."

"You really care about him don't you?"

She nodded 'yes'.

Anne looked at her sister and smiled. "I will not scorn you for loving such a simple soul, Maybel, but please do be cautious of what you do. Serge seems like the kind of person that does his level if not utter best to bury his pain deep within himself just to get buy with an apocryphal smile and grip."

"He may be happy at some times, but for awhile he has been gloomy to me."

"Give him a while and he'll be better," Anne said. "He is a nice boy who doesn't deserve to be truly unhappy." Anne mingled with Maybel until she was asked to dance by a gentleman. Little did Maybel, or Serge, know that their journey through France's bloody revolution would end up as a revolution of their own. Small, yes,....big....most definitely.


	2. The Scaffold Waltz Chapter II

**The Scaffold Waltz**

**Chapter II**

The soft breeze blew in a gentle rhythm across the fields of gold from near and far. Perhaps the way Serge felt about now, could benefit how the wind blew. His emotions were catching up on him, so Serge tried his level best not to get himself depressed. It was these parties and social gay gatherings that turned on his thoughts of his late parents. The memory that remained the clearest in his mind is when his father played the piano and his mother sang various songs that sounded beyond lovely. Alas...Serge will never witness another moment like that with his parents again.

Frail leaves blew over Serge's halted shoes as he stared across the water at the array of mixed hot colors-sunset. Serge always loved watching the sunset, but today he seemed he would rather stick his nose in some book and ignore the palpable fact that he really did feel lonely. Maybel, of course, was a friend of his, but he never knew that she loved him; he though of her as just a friend, however, he only saw her twice a month at the most. Deep in the corroded chambers of his mind, Serge desired a different kind of person...a true friend who he can tell anything and everything with. He could talk with Maybel, yes, but she was a girl, and there were just some things Serge could not talk about with Maybel, no matter how liberal she was.

"She is a good person," Serge whispered to himself. "If I were a girl, we would already be the best of friends." He sighed. "Life is all so convoluted. It is either black or white. There is no gray middle to jump into." He sighed again. "Now, now. I am just getting myself depressed. Getting depressed about worrying about what cannot be helped. Huh, what do you know-Nothing ever comes good to boys like me who are parentless, pennyless, and...and..." Serge tried to stop himself from going any further. He knew he had a lot going for himself. He played piano like a virtuoso never seen before, he had parents who protected him from Heaven, he had Madame LeEteneix who had taken him in from an austere orphanage, and he had dreams, health, and the rest of his life to live the best he could. That is what made him stop and think what he was saying. "I think I do have good things for me. I have blessings. Yeah...also a future to make the most out of. I have the promises of many that I can be something great! I do have all of those, yes! I have those," he said with a clear voice and a smile across his lips. He did have blessings, he did have a future, he did have promises...

...he also had somebody listening to him, also watching the sunset from the dirt road, standing about fifteen paces from Serge himself.

"You also have a way with talking to yourself a whole lot," came a calm yet bitter voice. Serge snapped out of his self-advising state and his deep brown eyes fell upon a thin figure outlined in orange, gold, and white, just like the sunset above.

"Maybel?" he said to the figure. The figure turned as if it were confused. All Serge could make out was a big pair of deep emerald eyes staring back into his for the longest moment. They were beautiful, and if Serge could not hold himself against them, he would be lost in their gaze forever. He recognized them, however, he had a hard, gut-wrenching feeling that those eyes did not belong to who he thought they did. He advanced closer to the character a distance away with a relieving smile and eyes that glowed against the rays from the sky.

"Maybel! I am glad to see you, but I though you stayed at Madame LeEteneix's house for the music? I am sorry I've been away for so long. I just got wrapped up in my own thoughts that I did not keep an eye on the time. I apologize. I promised to sing with you but I-"

"Are you perhaps talking to me?" came the calm and bitter voice of the shadowed figure, silhouetted against the powerful sunset. "If you are not, please continue talking to yourself again and not to me because you are really freaking me out."

"Maybel? What is wrong?"

The shadowed person's eyes grew wider with bafflement.

"Maybel?" the person replied. "I do not know who this Maybel girl is, but rest assure you I am not her. My name is not Maybel, and I do not know who you are." Serge was completely bemused. He knew what Maybel looked like and how she sounded, duh, she was his friend! But this character looked just like Maybel and sounded like her, but the voice was about a half-a-note lower in tone. Just then, the person walked in Serge's direction and the shadows dispersed from the body. In utter surprise and embarrassment, Serge was now looking at a BOY! Not a GIRL.

Serge stared at him with his mouth hanging open slightly. He looked exactly like Maybel, sort of Maybel's male counter-part . He had Maybel's deep green eyes, pale soft skin, golden blonde hair, thin arms and legs with a slender, lithe body, rosy cheeks, long white fingers, and a mysterious grace and elegance that approached as exceedingly feminine. The only, only, only, only, only, only difference between this new stranger and Maybel was that his hair was shorter than hers, about down to the lower part of his neck, where as Maybel's reached below the end of her back.

"My goodness! I am so sorry! I thought you were a friend of mine because you two look so much alike! I apologize from the bottom of my heart!" Serge bowed nervously, afraid to look the boy in the eye. "I repentant upon my action and misjudgement! Please forgive me! I am truly very sorry!"

"My gosh, you are a crazy lunatic! Get up, I don't need an apology. What did you do wrong?" said the blonde with a confused yet amused look.

"I mistook you for a lady. You must feel insulted."

"Happens all the time, even from those who are the real ladies. Do not stress over it. If it means that you won't be apologizing like a madman who just committed a crime then it's fine."

"Oh, thank-you. Thank-you Mr...uhhh...?"

"Cocteau. Gilbert Cocteau," he said with a sharp glance that wasn't exactly one hundred percent friendly.

"Oh, I see. A great pleasure to meet you Cocteau Gilbert Cocteau!" Serge laughed at his joke, Gilbert did not budge a muscle. He was not amused at all.

'I guess this one is the kind that tells riddles and jokes to feel comfortable with others. How droll, yet dramatically pathetic. Probably always in an optimistic mood I see. How different the winds blow in the midst of two crossed rivers.'

Serge's laughter died as he realized his laughter was the only sound, other than the crows and crickets, present. He looked at Gilbert shyly and uncertainly.

"Ah...well, I am Serge Batouille, nice to meet you." He held out his hand gleefully.

"A pleasure," replied Gilbert turning his eyes away from the dark-skinned boy. Gilbert was not enjoying this less-than-perfect conversation. "Tell me, do you always talk to yourself, Sefred?"

"Serge."

"Whatever. As long as you do not answer yourself, then I guess you are still sane enough to have a conversation with."

"I suppose that is so."

"What did you say?"

"I suppose that is so," Serge repeated.

"You just love to repeat yourself don't you? Conversation with you can be quiet monotonous," Gilbert smirked. "See? I can tell jokes too. Probably better than you."

Serge giggled. "Say, that was pretty good. I liked that one!" Gilbert looked at him sternly, his face stone-cold.

"Gilbert?" Serge looked behind his shoulder but saw nothing. "What are you looking at, Gilbert?"

"The last hour before sunset, yes?"

"It is, yes. Why?"

"I have to go now. Pardon, but I must take my leave." Gilbert clenched his long shawl, his knuckles turning snow-white, and turned on his heel.

"Wait! Gilbert!" shouted Serge waving his hand up in the warm air.

Gilbert turned, and their eyes met once again.

"Will I see you again?" One thing about Serge that made him susceptible to pain was that he wanted to be friends with everyone. He could not stand anyone in pain themselves or alone. Gilbert's gaze out to the sunset when Serge first saw him showed a glimpse of loneliness and yearning for something grandiose, as if he coveted for the days to just go by quicker. Serge's answer was a half-wave and a gaze that didn't really promise anything. "Of course I will!" he continued. "If you ever want to see me, the LeEteneix's abode is throwing a grand party! I invite you to come! It was a honor meeting you, Gilbert! I hope we can become friends!"

The clock tower rang. The chimes echoed through the still air of the city. It was relaxing to hear those chimes of the tower rather than the bells of execution. If it was not another condemned to the guillotine it was another. Blood stained the lives of people everyday. However, where Serge dwelled, in the northern region of France, blood was rare to see, and was always trying to be prevented by means of execution. All over the other parts of France, blood was just another mundane thing.

"Friends?" Gilbert whispered to himself, without Serge hearing. "Friends!" he called back.

"Of course! Are we not? I know we just met and all, but I feel like we can become good friends!" Serge answered happily. Inside, Gilbert sensed this strong urge to walk away without a word. That F-word caused him to falter at his thoughts, all broken and twisted. Gilbert, being almost a young man, had never had a real friend, or even a person to call his friend. Gilbert was not in a sense alone, but he had no one to fully rely on. His clients were all that made up his connections and interactions. Through the touch of skin was the way Gilbert acquired everything he wanted to know about one person.

'Serge,' Gilbert thought, 'has no idea what he's getting himself into to ask such a question like that.'

"Friends, huh? I'll think about that one!" Gilbert answered. The final chime rang through the stiff and silent sunset air. "I bid you a short farewell."

"I cannot wait until I see you again, Gilbert."

"Never you mind about me. Just forget that you ever met me. You have a foolishly pure heart, Serge. I might shatter it into little tiny pieces just you wait and see. Adieu." Serge, puzzled and with crooked thoughts, watched as the blonde beauty walked away into the sunset.

The first half of the night went on and on, dully. Madame LeEteneix was having a merry time with all of her friends and enjoyed running into the kitchen and serving her famous caramel drop tarts. Serge, on the other hand, sat by the wide window, that same one that Maybel watched him leave for the walk earlier, watching whether or not Gilbert would come. The party seemed more exciting if Serge would try to be a little more flamboyant and energetic, but he wanted to save all his energy for when his new friend came to visit. It was a half hour past nine and still no sign of the blonde.

"Serge?" It was Maybel.

"Oh! Hello, Maybel," Serge said slowly, without taking his eyes off the window.

"Are you feeling well, Serge? Before, when we sang together, you didn't seem to be yourself at all. You started to sing Frere Jacques in the middle of Forest's Nightingale. It was quite funny, actually, sorry. That is not usually like you." Maybel sat down next to Serge, blocking his view a little.

"Maybel," Serge started, his eyes growing with emptiness. "Can you honor me with an answer to a question?"

"My pleasure."

"Do you have any brothers?" Maybel appeared as confused as Serge was when he met Gilbert and when he walked away.

"Brothers? Serge, you know I have only my sister, Ann."

"Never mind, then. It was a silly question on my behalf. I do apologize."

"Think nothing of it," she smiled. She giggled.

Before Serge could declare that he was seeing double of everything, he saw Maybel's fair, luxurious face again. Two pretty complexions at once. Then, the moment he was waiting for! It was not Maybel's face that suddenly appeared outside the window, it was Gilbert, dressed in a stunning azure suite.

"He's here!" acclaimed Serge with his face lighted like a thousand suns. "He's here! Madame LeEteneix! He's here!" Serge zipped past Maybel, creating a gust behind him, and then stopped in front of the door.

"Child! Who can it be?" asked Madame LeEteneix. "Who is it?"

"My new friend! He's such a terrific person! I hope you will enjoy his company. May I let him in? Please?" Serge had the glow of a child being handed new toy, or a mother being handed her newborn baby. Madame LeEteneix smiled warmly and a glint of excitement sparkled in her small, brown eyes.

The doorbell rang. Everyone grew quiet, and the attention was directed towards the door.

"Yes! Of course!" said Madame LeEteneix. "Please, Serge, let the young man in!"

Serge swung the door open as fast as his arms would allow, and there stood Gilbert, outlined in the rays of the nightly stars and city lights. He was breathtakingly gorgeous. He was wearing the stunning suite Serge saw through the window. He was standing in a rather different angel, like one would walk when limping as if his ankle was sprained.

"Gilbert! Welcome! I am so glad you came tonight!" acclaimed Serge. "Madame LeEteneix! This is my new friend, Gilbert Cocteau!"

Serge, as happy as he was to have the witty young gentleman in his humble abode, couldn't help but notice the blank stare on not just Madame LeEteneix's face but the entire crowd in the living room. Something was obviously amiss.

"My..." started Madame LeEteneix. "My goodness! W-What a pleasant surprise! I am happy to have such a guest in my home." She looked at Serge's face light up. She tried her hardest not to look like she would want to command Gilbert to leave right away. She wanted to either way one would look at it. She knew what Gilbert was, or assumed, just by looking at him; she wasn't stupid. "A pleasure to meet you, Gilbert. I am ecstatic that my Serge has finally made a friend."

Gilbert's eyes widened. He had no idea that Serge was that dead-set about them both being that close. Gilbert gave himself a cocky smirk and with that smirk came and intriguing idea in Gilbert's head. Serge was in for a world-win of a surprises once Gilbert got him alone upstairs.

"I am glad to be here myself," Gilbert half lied. "Serge seems very happy that I came. I hope he and I will continue to be good friends." Serge couldn't help but smile at the blonde. Everyone else either took the bait that was set for them, or simply refused to believe anything Gilbert was talking about.

When some of the party guests went back to their own business, Maybel made her way through the crowd in order to get a look at Serge's new friend. When she finally got a good look, she saw herself!

"Serge?" she asked. "Serge!"

"Maybel! I am so happy that you are here! Come and meet my new friend!" Serge offered his hand to hers, and she reluctantly placed her hand into his, and they both walked towards Gilbert, who didn't notice Maybel.

"Gilbert, this is Maybel, my friend. Maybel, this is Gilbert. I hope you two become friends as well!"

Gilbert turned to meet the girl but instead was staring at a perfect reflection of himself. Both Maybel and Gilbert were staring at each other, opened mouth and shocked.

"My word! They look exactly alike!" Madame LeEteneix exclaimed, her hands on her face in utter surprise. "Why look at them everyone! They look like twins!"

"You cannot tell them apart!" one said.

"The only difference is that Maybel has long hair!" said another.

"A perfect parallel image!"

"Indeed!"

"I have not seen anything so close in detail before!"

"They will definitely confuse us! HAHAHAHA!"

"Gemini twins! Who would've known."

"If Maybel got a haircut, you could never tell them apart! Ever!"

Serge was in agreement. They both looked so much alike it was almost disturbing. Maybel simply smiled at Gilbert then at Serge, saying nothing.

"It is nice to make your acquaintance, Gilbert," she curtsied. Gilbert, interacting with a member of the opposite sex, bowed like any gentleman would do.

"The pleasure is mine." He felt this gauche sensation that he was bowing to himself in the mirror, the reflection copying every move. "Y'know, now I know what I would look like as a woman."

"To me, a man," Maybel replied with a blank face. "Good sir, where do you hail from?"

"France. Aren't we all?" Serge smiled, but tried not to laugh rudely.

"Where in France?" Maybel tried again with a more serious tone.

"The Northern Province," Gilbert said. "At least in this part of the country I can walk down the street without getting my shoes stained with blood."

Maybel said nothing. She was mortified at this boy's lack of conduct. France was in the midst of a bloody revolution and he seemed adamant about all the killings and beheads, whereas the northern region only hanged the condemned without the bloodshed.

"Maybel?" Serge saw that she was ready to leave. "Maybel?"

"Gilbert," Maybel said to him, locking her stare with his. "True that you won't lose your head, but I would be careful around these parts if I were you."

"Why? Are you terrified of the scaffold, Miss Maybel?"

"With all of my heart."

"I see. It would be a shame if a young maiden like yourself were to be sent to an early grave. Such a sin." Serge's anxiety grew each time one of his friends would speak another new, but less than welcoming, insult.

"Sir! I will not stay here an be further insulted by a perfect stranger like you!"

"Maybel! Please!" Serge begged her.

Gilbert did nothing but stare at Maybel, on the brink of tears. Tears of embarrassment, pain, and most of all- envy and jealousy.

"I apologize," she said gently. "Yes, I am afraid to speak of the scaffold. I dread the idea of France's revolution. It is inevitable though. Sir Gilbert, I welcome you here. I am sorry to have lashed out against you. I must be feeling a tad bit ill. I am willing to forget if you are." She held out her white hand and Gilbert's white hand halfheartedly accepted.

"Yes. Of course." He kissed the hand and bowed to her then to Serge. "I probably should be going."

"Please do not go," Maybel stopped him. "If it is because of me, do not take your leave."

"It was not you. It was I," Gilbert gave a small smile. "I am weary tonight. I had to take a long walk here. I am afraid the long walk has turned my calm nature into an uptight and crude. I feel faint. May I ask about a resting quarter?"

"Of course. Madame LeEteneix! Madame!" Serge called.

Unfortunately, the Madame was in the kitchen, mingling with a many of her friends to hear the boy. Maybel told Serge that he could go upstairs into his room and give Gilbert his bed to rest. She helped Serge carry Gilbert up the stairs and around the hallway into the bedroom, dark and dim. Before long, Gilbert relaxed and closed his eyes, marking the beginning of his plan.

"I think he fainted," Maybel said. She put her hand over his smooth forehead. "He does not have a fever. He will be alright. He just needs rest."

"Thank-you, Maybel," Serge replied to the girl. She blushed. "I was hoping that tonight would be perfect. But then, both of you began quarreling then he faints. I feel very bad."

"Do not feel that way so," she confronted him soothingly.

"I cannot help it. I feel like not everybody liked Gilbert right away."

"Change takes time, Serge. Give some time to this. I am sure Gilbert will become very much well liked. I already like him."

"You do?"

"Yes. I have never seen you so happy before than when he walked through the door tonight. Anyone who makes you so happy like that, Serge, is well worth liking forever."

Serge moved his eyes into Maybel's soft green eyes and saw both her and Gilbert. He smiled and thanked her. 'I am so lucky to have great friends like Maybel and Gilbert,' Serge thought. 'I am so grateful.'

Minutes later, Maybel had left Serge and Gilbert alone. Serge continued watching Gilbert, as he lit candles.

Upon lighting the last candle, Gilbert stirred, fluttering his long eyelashes, revealing his beautiful face against the pale moonlight.

"Serge?"

"Gilbert! Are you feeling better now?"

"Now that I know you are here," he replied with an sadistic gaze. Serge didn't like that gaze but he felt pulled into it, like bees to honey.

"For you, my dear and naive Serge, I will make this half price." Serge was yanked by his white shirt and slammed down onto his bed, Gilbert on top of him. This was happening all to fast! Serge found himself looking at Gilbert from an awkward angle. Smiling evilly, Gilbert stroked the dark locks against Serge's forehead.

"Half price seems reasonable, do you not agree?" Gilbert whispered into his ear. "Make this worth my while." He started slipping off the dark-skinned boy's shirt and making his way down further. Serge was becoming scared. Gilbert was a prostitute? He never knew. The eyes of the night was one them. Serge's was locked with Gilbert's. Was this love? Was this passion, desire? Was this...evil?


	3. The Scaffold Waltz Chapter III

**The Scaffold Waltz**

**Chapter III**

Electrifying kisses and strong urges to let the soul and body take control was all so overwhelming. It was like fire, fire that could breathe.

Serge, lightheaded and totally disillusioned to what position he was currently in, simply rested under Gilbert's slender frame of a body, never once taking his sights away from the blonde.

Their eyes locked again. This time, it was a look of pure agreement.

"Hmm...I guessed right. You are a virgin are you not?" Gilbert smirked evilly. "I would rather do it with you for free if you were at least half alive rather then do it with a statue!" Serge snapped back to reality; his head ached with utter perplexity and pain.

"W-What?" Serge whispered.

Gilbert stared at the boy below him. There was something about his voice that made Gilbert shiver. I was a gentle voice, a voice of gentility and compassion, unlike some of Gilbert's earlier clients. The frown on the prostitute's face grew dimmer and transformed into something more sensitive.

"G-Get off of me," Serge said in a tone above a whisper. "Please, Gilbert, get off." Tears dwelled up in Serge's dark brown eyes, continuing down his flushed cheeks. Gilbert did as he was told before Serge finished his request. "G-Gilbert? Why?"

Terror filled Gilbert's heart. Usually, when Gilbert engaged in human desires, he was often the one who ended up crying, sometimes after money was thrown upon him. This time, however, it was different. He heard himself crying in the deep chambers of his mind. Flashbacks of the deepest pain and terror clouded his thoughts, unaware that Serge had already ran out of the room, slamming the door.

"Weak...that's what I am," Gilbert chocked back on premature tears. "I am horrible...completely horrible." He broke down with tears and a broken heart. That look on Serge's face was something of the likes that Gilbert has never seen before. All the love he delivered was forced or reluctant, not adoring and true. A jolt of compassion was felt with Serge's name whispered between the blonde's rosy lips. "No! No, not him! I cannot be falling for him! I just knew him for a few hours! There is no way of telling what someone like him might do to me!" But Gilbert's false cover up was cast into nothingness as he smiled, kissed his hand upon which Serge's tear trickled. Now he knew what love at first sight meant. It all started when he first saw the nervous, dark-skinned boy on the dirt road. God allowed this, so it must not go to waste. "I-I do not want to be sad anymore...I do not want to cry anymore, to do this anymore. Forget the money, forget the pleasure." Looking up at the cracked ceiling, ribbons of silver dropping from his eyes, Gilbert swallowed hard. "I am in love with him, with Serge." Without another thought, Gilbert threw on the rest of his azure colored garment, down the stairs and made his way to the exit. Many people were enjoying themselves, many tipsy and having a grand old time.

"Gilbert, my dear child, where are you going? Not home, I hope." Ms. LeEteneix called out over a floating sea of heads, some with gaudy hats on them. Gilbert turned to meet her stare and said nothing. He shot her a sad look and shut the door behind him silently. "My goodness," she said to herself. "He and Serge did not have a fight, did they?" Suddenly, a gentle voice interrupted Ms. LeEteneix train of thoughts.

"Ms. LeEteneix, do you know where I can find Serge? I have not seen him for over an hour."

"Maybel, dear," Ms. LeEteneix said with a smile, "are you having a good time?"

Maybel quickly nodded as her face lighting up like a hundred candles all aflame. "Oh, yes indeed!"

"You are looking for Serge, you said?"

"You seem rather worried, if I may say, my Lady," Maybel frowned. "Is anything amiss?"

"I do believe so, Maybel, my dear. I am worried if Serge and his new friend may have gotten into a disagreement upstairs. Serge has not come downstairs after he and...Gilbert? Yes, Gilbert, have gone upstairs together. Rather strange I say. Gilbert left as if he was stricken with something dreadful."

"Oh, no," Maybel whispered soft enough so that her host did not hear her. "I will go check on Serge to make sure he is well enough to come back down to the party."

"You do that, dear," replied Ms. LeEteneix, patting Maybel on her head as if she was a newborn puppy. "I am sure if you went to see him he is bound to be on his feet again." Maybel smiled a half smile as she left to go upstairs to Serge's room. 'My, it is unbelievable how identical Maybel and Gilbert look, except for Maybel's long, blonde hair. It will be difficult to tell them apart if the long hair was cut short on Maybel's head. Then, it will be hard to tell them apart at all. My, what a small world,' thought Ms. LeEteneix before she started talking with a wealthy countess dressed in yellow.

"Serge?" Maybel knocked on Serge's bedroom door gingerly before opening it, finding nothing but the cold darkness. "Serge? Are you in here?" She walked in one step after another. Looking around, her eyes stopped on the figure of someone limped on the bed. "Serge? Are you asleep?" Her white hand trembled as she went to touch Serge's forehead before he looked up and shouted for her to get away.

"No! Stay away! Can you not see that this is not love but lust!" Serge cried out, waving his hand before Maybel, signaling her to stay back and not to take another step. Maybel's face had her eyebrows raised, her eyes wide, and her mouth quivering.

"Serge! W-What are you saying? What is going on?" Serge cried out, tears gushing from his brown eyes like an out of control waterfall.

"Please! Can you not see this is not what I want! It is true, true that I love you!" Since Maybel looked like an exact replica of Gilbert, Serge clenched her by her collar of lace and beaded fabric, thinking it was Gilbert himself. Almost raising her off the floor with his hands, Serge continued shouting, almost to the point of screaming. "I want you to understand me! Do not use me to you own vain pleasure!"

"Stop! Serge! Please, let me go! Please!" Maybel pleaded in tears. She was all at sea; she had no idea what her friend was talking about.

"I thought I could never love someone as strongly as you! You have no idea how much you frightened me! No idea at all! You haunt my every thought! Even in my own blackened fear, I still see you! You witch! You undying, lovely, and beautiful witch...you do this to me...frighten me...seduce me...make me love you...at first sight..." Serge dropped Maybel back to her feet as he let out a robust fit of screams, holding his hands over his face.

"Stop! Serge! Look at me! Look at me!" Maybel shouted, trying to calm him down. She wrestled to get her arms on his shoulders and shake him back to his senses. Serge's hands parted, making him see Maybel's face, but all he saw was Gilbert's face close to his, emitting more gentle kisses as soft as silk.

"You are here again," Serge whispered, trembling at each word. "You came back!"

"Huh? What are you talking about, Serge?" Maybel asked, trying her hardest to calm him. "I am right here for you...right here, Serge." Maybel helped Serge to his bed where he fell and started crying softly. Maybel caressed Serge's forehead with her delicate hand and fingers as she started to sing to him tenderly.

Serge started coming down to his senses as soon as he saw Maybel over his shoulder with his teary eyes; however, his tears blinded him for a moment, and it was not Maybel he saw, but Gilbert, smiling and allowing the mature moonlight radiate upon his effeminate figure.

"Gilbert..." Serge called out sleepily.

Maybel's eyes widened, her eyes mixed with both shock and sadness. "Gilbert?"

"Yes...that is you...you are the one that said you loved me...is that not so, Gilbert?" Serge smiled, falling back on his pillows as if succumbing to Gilbert's seduction once more, spreading out his arms and tilting back his head to show the soft, smooth flesh of his neck.

'He is possessed!' Maybel thought. 'He is gone mad!' "Serge?"

"Yes, Gilbert? I am here..."

"No! I am not Gilbert, Serge! I am Maybel! Can you not see who I am?"

"You are you, and I am I, what else matters? You and I have found one another..." With that, Serge started to break out in a fit of screaming. Maybel, again, tried her hardest not to scream in unison with her friend, but he was getting out of hand. Maybel decided to do something she would never dream of doing before. Leaning over Serge, without getting hit with a flying hand of his, Maybel kissed his forehead.

Serge fell silent.

"He is finally calmed down," Maybel said to herself. "What happened to him?" Maybel touched her lips, feeling the heat rush to her cheeks, spreading a dark crimson color into them both. 'He feels so good,' she thought. 'But, he does not see me. He saw that boy Gilbert, not me. It is that that hurts the most, a kiss of another reflection. Serge...you have never acted like this before.' Maybel's face froze, her breath was shortened. 'Before Gilbert showed up..."

"Maybel! What is going on up here?" cried a voice hurrying up the stairs. The cry belonged to Ms. LeEteneix. Maybel quickly got up and covered Serge with a plaid blanket then fluffed his pillows. With the door swinging open in a flash, Ms. LeEteneix, followed by Anne, scurried into the dark room finding Maybel's silhouette next to the shadowed bed. "Maybel? What is all the noise happening in here? Are you alright, my dear girl?"

"Yes, I am fine. Serge just had a nightmare that is all. I came to check on him to make doubly sure he was doing well," Maybel lied with a smile. Anne narrowed her eyes, disbelieving her younger sister, no matter how good of a liar she was.

"Very well," Ms. LeEteneix continued, going back toward the door. "Thank-you very much, Maybel. You are such a good friend to my little Serge. Let us let him sleep in peace." Maybel flinched a little on the word "friend" but decided to follow her older sister and Ms. LeEteneix out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

Anne pulled Maybel over into another equally as dark room as Ms. LeEteneix disappeared down the stairs and into the crowd of party guests.

"Maybel, what really happened in there?" Anne persistently asked Maybel, whose eyes were cast down to her buckled shoes. "Answer me, sister."

"No, nothing happened," Maybel said defensively, still avoiding Anne's stare. "Serge just had a nightmare, nothing more."

"You are a good liar to others, but I am you older sister and I have played that game before you. I know the ropes, so tell me what all the screaming was in there for? Do not tell me you two were-"

"No, goodness no!" Maybel whispered. "I went looking for Serge about an hour ago, went up to his room and he started acting like a possessed madman. He frightened me," Maybel said as tears slid down her eyes. Anne hugged her little sister comfortingly. "It was after that boy Gilbert left the room that-"

"Wait!" Anne interrupted. "Who left the room before?"

"Serge's new friend, Gilbert."

"The one who looks exactly like you?"

"Yes."

"Why was Serge screaming, Maybel? Was he hurt?"

"No. He was frantically accusing me of a matter of love and how I tried to take advantage of him, even though I was not, I swear it." Maybel shook her head over and over, convinced that she was dealing with something beyond her control, maybe her comprehension. "But..."

"But?" Anne emphasized, putting her hands on Maybel's shoulders, shaking her slightly.

"He kept calling me Gilbert, not Maybel," she said frowning. "To him, Gilbert was still there."

"Where is this new boy?" Anne asked.

"He left the party before I went up to see Serge. He was the last person with Serge at the time."

Anne stood mute for several moments, staring with glassy-eyes at Maybel, who gazed at her feet, shaking like an early earthquake about to break loose.

"You said Serge was screaming like a mad person, Maybel?" Anne asked as her tone returned to a normal, kind one. Maybel answered with a half-nod. Anne decided to leave the matter alone, seeing that nobody was hurt and Serge was now fast asleep. Both sisters went back downstairs as a circle of guests began to dance in grand merriment.

A few feet from where Anne and Maybel stood, a shadowed figure emerged from the still darkness, the pale moonlight outlining a sinister smirk upon a smooth face. The stranger was Gabriella Brecht, a girl of Serge, Gilbert, and Maybel's age who was of medium height. She had medium length brown, curly hair and a pair of cold, dark eyes.

"A mad person, eh?" she sneered with an icy tone. "My dear, naïve Maybel, I am afraid Serge did not go mad intentionally. I believe the cause was something upon only a boy that could resemble you so much could accomplish. An almost perfect copy of someone else is common in the old tales of witchcraft in our country. And witchcraft, of course, never went unpunished. Gilbert, eh? Sounds like not only did they do more than "talk" in that room, but it seems Serge has encountered a beautiful witch, to cast his heart only to succumb to the darkness." Gabriella stopped, turned the corner to peek at Anne and Maybel sitting at the food table, drinking a toast to who knows what. "Oh, my, is this not the sweetest, most twisted thing you have ever seen? Serge has fallen in love with not only a possible witch, but a no good prostitute as well." She let a small chuckle pass her lips. "And prostitutes, as well as witches, must all die slow and painful deaths. As Anne's closest friend, I have to look out for her younger sister, making sure she does not get herself tangled in a web involving a whore who uses magic for evil...do not worry, Maybel...I will get rid of that troublesome eye sore. I will see to it that you and Serge lived happily ever after, unlike my elder sister...that whore!"

TBC...


End file.
